Lies, Spies, And Supernatural Eyes
by IsomorphicTARDIS
Summary: The Winchesters never existed. John, Mary, Dean, and Sam Winchester all died in the house fire that suddenly started some twenty years ago. Two brothers, Bryce Larkin and Neal Caffrey, never wanted to be hunters... Full Summary Inside. Supernatural/White Collar/Chuck Crossover
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Lies, Spies, And Supernatural Eyes**

**Rating: T, just to be safe. And, 'cause of some dirty words. Sorry!**

**Summary: The Winchesters never existed. John, Mary, Dean, and Sam Winchester all died in the house fire that suddenly started some twenty years ago. Two brothers, Bryce Larkin and Neal Caffrey, never wanted to be hunters. But, after their father was taken away and they were put into Witness Protection, their mother found it necessary to teach them the things that the Larkin couple had known their whole lives. Now, as Bryce and Neal are separated and managing their own lives, they are brought back together by something stronger than anything they have ever hunted. But, coming back together as a family may be harder than they thought, with the past, the present, and the future bearing down on them. Lies will be exposed, Spies will go undercover, and the Supernatural will follow them all the way through.**

**Disclaimer: I own Supernatural. And White Collar. And Chuck. Yes. All three. At the same time. This is true. **

**(I wish.)**

**Here we go, first chapter! Hope you likie! R&R!**

Peter Burke knew something was up the moment that Neal's personal landline started ringing off the hook, as Neal seemed reluctant to pay attention to it, never mind pick it up.

Not only was it odd that he wouldn't pick it up, but he never got calls, with the exception of from his team. Noting the stiffness in the man's jaw and the slight shaking of his fingers as he finished his paperwork from their last case, Peter decided that he couldn't just file this away as a cause of Kate's death, anymore. He had to something about it, then.

"You gonna take that?" he called to Neal, walking down the stairs and stopping in front of his consultant's desk, folder in hand. Neal glanced up, reached for the folder.

"Ah, ah, ah, Neal. I asked you a question," Peter said, lifting the folder out of Neal's reach. Unfortunately, he underestimated Neal's speed, and stumbled a bit when the folder was stolen from his hands and his question answered with a stiff, "No."

Peter's eyebrows narrowed. "Neal…"

"Supposed forgery of the world's largest diamond ring. … And then it was stolen. Wow. Bet that put a damper on the engagement," Neal remarked, effectively changing the subject with a knowing smirk.

Peter sighed, resisting the urge to scrub a hand down his face as he replied, "Wife-to-be says it was stolen overnight, and the boyfriend believes her, surprise, surprise. Unfortunately for them, their insurance company doesn't believe them. List of suspects are in there, as well as alibis for that night, including the ones for each other." He watched Neal carefully graze his eyes over the contents of the folder whilst the phone took a breath from its constant ringing and then started again.

Neal stopped his reading, turned, and ripped the cord from the wall, muttering something about "Alone," and "Overbearing."

Picking the folder up from Neal's desk before he could open it again, Peter gestured toward the elevator, saying, "You can read on the way there. C'mon."

Neal sighed, giving a small smile and picking up his jacket and hat, flipping both on and replying, "Alright, but I'm driving on the way back."

Peter scoffed, opening the elevator, pushing the ground floor, and turning to Neal.

"Keep dreaming, Slick."

* * *

The house at which they arrived was anything but a poor person's choice of residence; the walls were white-washed, as was the fence and shed in the background, the grass was tidily kept, almost symmetrically neat to the garden blooming around the borders of the porch landing that led up to the soft magenta door. Everything was obviously new, or close to it.

Nodding in appreciation to the nice, suburban house, Neal ducked under the police tape and held it up for Peter to step through after shining his badge to some other FBI Forensics lackeys. They were stopped a moment later by a larger and slightly more intimidating man, despite the casual outfit and identical windbreaker all of the FBI agents wore.

"Agent Peter Burke, I assume?" the man said, but before they could reply, he continued. "Which means you must be Mr. Neal Caffrey."

Instantly, Neal's demeanor changed from slightly irritated to wary but cheerful at being recognized. A smirk found its way onto his face again, and Peter internally sighed. It would take forever to get the man's ego back in check. The man went on.

"Pleasure to meet both of you. I'm Agent Crowley. Hughes assigned me as head for this case, so I do expect your full cooperation." Instead of saying it in a threatening manner, like Peter had expected, he just said it as if he was sure they would do it anyway, pushed or not. He found himself liking the man, despite his odd behavior.

"I'd also appreciate if you moved rather quickly; the political side of this matter seems to be slowing everyone down. Now, if you'd excuse me, I need to reprimand some new agents for not doing their jobs." He left abruptly, already telling off some of the slightly intimidated young interns.

The man's odd accent combined with his fast speech patters put both CI and Agent off for a moment, causing both of them to stare momentarily after the newly assigned head.

"'Head for this case'? Him? What on Earth is Hughes thinking?" Peter muttered, not wanting to give Neal the thought that he actually liked the man. Who knows how much teasing would ensue? Neal barely suppressed a laugh as he moved forward, leaving Peter to catch up to him.

"Don't laugh, he's technically your boss, too," Peter said, sobering Neal up enough for him to stop laughing, but not enough to scare the smirk off of his face.

As soon as they got inside the house, they saw Jones trot down the stairs and Diana excuse herself from the conversation she was currently having with the couple.

"Alright, what've we got?" Peter asked the room in general – everyone seemed to have something, even Neal, who was checking out the doorknob, the windows, and the bottom of the rug.

"Bedroom's ransacked. Whoever came in obviously didn't know exactly where the ring was, but nothing else seemed to be taken. Despite the mess, none of the forensics guys found any DNA or anything," Jones started, flicking off his gloves as Diana picked up the conversation. Peter turned towards her, glancing toward the couple, and catching a glimpse of a worried boyfriend holding his girlfriend's arms in a tight grasp as though she might float away if he let go. He wasn't faking it. He turned attention back to Diana.

"Couldn't get much out of the couple that had already been said. Both of them went out for dinner to a packed restaurant, where he proposed. After that, they walked home together, stopping at the jewelry store to check its authenticity. Man said he was about sure it was real, and they went home. Girlfriend put it in its box in her drawer. Next morning, they woke up, and their bedroom was a mess. Nothing else was overturned, and the ring was the only thing gone."

"She wasn't wearing the ring?" Peter asked, and Neal answered, all of the attention suddenly on him.

"'Course not. You just got a priceless ring, you're gonna risk losing it in the bed before you get it perfectly resized?" Everyone looked up at him, and he just shrugged.

"What, you think you can somehow inconspicuously size something to your girlfriend's finger without her guessing the short leap of engagement?" He sighed at their blank looks, and switched topics. "Lock's definitely intact, though there was a little wear, so someone probably tried to get in that way, but gave up. Windows are all secure, and so is the basement."

"Basement?" the man stepped forward, still gripping his girlfriend's arms in his clammy hands. All heads turned toward him, and the girl's arms wrapped around his torso tighter. "We don't have a basement."

Neal's eyebrows shot up, and he jumped, landing with a resounding thump – a sound that echoed too far under them for there to only be solid concrete. "Hear that? That's your basement. Seeing as there's no way into the basement by the house, and you two obviously don't know about it, I'm going to take a wild guess and say that the basement has nothing to do with it." The couple seemed flabbergasted, though no one really payed them anymore attention.

"So how did the thief get in?" Peter asked, more to himself than the others. Moving around the room and searching for any tells, he quickly scanned the list of possible entryways. There was nothing on the floor, the corners were secure, as were all of the side entrances, the walls were fit, the ceiling –

"The ceiling," Peter said, addressing the couple. "Do you have a skylight, or an attic, something that might've been big enough for someone to get in?"

"Uh, yeah. There's a chimney upstairs in the bedroom across the hall. We never bothered moving in there, because we didn't need the extra space. So we just put everything we didn't find a place for there. You … You don't think …"

"I'm thinking exactly that," Peter said, running up the steps while his team followed, Neal bounding up in the rear.

They got to the other bedroom, and paused at the entrance. There was no real room, just overflowing boxes stacked on top of each other and various clothes and supplies littering the floor.

Neal was the first to go in, stepping over two stacked toolboxes and placing his feet expertly around the different items that he was sure could have placed in certain places in the house. The couple were probably just too excited to pack them away yet. Or they were lazy.

He finally reached the chimney, looking around for fingerprints, footprints, anything that would lead to someone leading down from it. After finding nothing and looking up the sooty shaft, he took a risk, rubbed his hand down the aged bricks, and smelled it.

Instantly, his memory surged, and his eyes widened as he recognized the scent and whipped around to Peter, frowning and saying, "Got something."

Rubbing the yellow, soot-like substance on his pants, he internally groaned.

Sulfur was never a good sign at a crime scene.

* * *

"What? Why would the CIA have anything to do with a stolen engagement ring?" Peter asked in the elevator, but Neal just gave a shrug.

"I don't know. But it's not good."

On the way back to the department building, Neal had explained that the lack of footprints or fingerprints could only lead to someone way more skilled in stealth than anybody would give credit for. Peter knew there was more, but left it alone when Neal told him to leave it and just trust him. He didn't know why he was so set on the CIA, but he did trust him. So he left it.

Neal, however, knew exactly why he was assuming CIA – even knew who had broken in, in fact. There was only one person he knew inside and out, all of his moves and thought processes, and only the ones that were shown inside that house. And he thought he could just show up at his doorstep? He couldn't tell Peter yet, though. He might freak. Neal was just glad Peter had gotten around to trusting him, after all.

_Neal was right about the 'not good' part_, Peter thought, switching subjects as he thought of what the other agency could possibly be doing, breaking into a house and stealing a couple's engagement ring. Including the CIA in anything is never a good idea. Usually, when the CIA was involved, there was always at least one casualty, which lead to an investigation of the unit, which eventually lead to at least one firing of a good agent. Anything to show the public that they were doing _something_, even when they weren't doing anything at all.

But back to the closest problem. Neal was lying. Chasing someone down for nine years taught you their quirks, when they were telling the truth, when they were lying, and most of the touchy subjects. The rarity of finding two of three of these to be present in this situation, Peter didn't voice anything. He didn't ignore it, but he didn't say anything, for which Neal was grateful. But still, Neal didn't seem to be the 'okay' that he said he was. Lying to your friends allowed that suspicion to blossom. No. Neal definitely was not 'okay'.

He barely heard Neal mutter as they stepped out of the elevator, "Especially now." Peter couldn't help but agree, despite obviously not thinking about the same thing as his consultant. They had barely stepped over the elevator threshold before they were apprehended by another problem.

Instead of moving to their own desks to do some more research while they wait for Hughes to get back, they were stopped by one of the maintenance ladies from the electric power division.

"Mr. Caffrey?" she asked in an irritated tone, continuing without any space for breath or response. "Okay, I will say this once. Either pick up your calls, or send them all to voicemail. I don't care. But under _no_ circumstances are you to _rip_ the telephone cords _out of the wall. _I don't care if it's a hooker or an estranged father, or something. _Do _not_ rip out the phone cords._ Just pick up the damn phone, or _someone_ _else_ will. _Do I make myself clear?_" She crossed her arms and tilted her head, looking over the tops of her glasses to glare at him.

"Er … right. Sorry about that. Won't happen again," he replied rather sheepishly, his tense shoulders an apology in themselves as they lifted slightly to show his lower authority in this situation. The woman gave a curt nod before setting off down the hallway, yelling at an irritated man who quickened his pace to avoid her.

Peter shot him a pointed look, and Neal rolled his eyes, doing the same for his shoulders a moment later.

They went back in to find many agents around Neal's desk, listening to something. One of the various agents laughed, and said, "You're kidding me." A laugh from a different voice, a few more words that Peter couldn't make out, and the agents laughed together this time.

It took Peter a moment to realize it was a voice on the telephone, and another moment to gauge Neal's reaction.

His shock was evident, along with things Peter identified as betrayal, anger, and confusion. He marched up to the group, propelling himself forward with his long legs, and shouting, "Hey!"

The line went silent, before a cheerful voice said, "Hey! There you are, Neal! Been a while! Listen, I need a favor – "

"No," Neal cut him off, putting a hand on his head. "You stop right there, and tell me what the _hell_ you're doing in New York." He lowered his voice then, though his voice cut cleanly through the preceding silence. "And don't you _dare_ give me that 'I'm looking for Dad' BS." He roughly picked up the phone, glaring vehemently at everyone until they scattered, and collapsed in his chair, looking immensely tired.

And then, as the consultant listened on to whoever was on the other side, the previous image seemed to deepen in quality. The dark circles under the CI's eyes were sharply accented by his pale complexion, which was also brought by the contrast between it and his dark hair, now far from slick as Neal ran a hand through it.

He sighed, and then said, "Look, I would love to, but I'm in the middle of a case, and –" he broke off, sinking further into his chair, though his face immediately closed down all sense of feeling. His body language was screaming different emotions while his face was void of it. A touchy subject, then. "Yes, I remember. I know. I'm sorry. But I can't just – ... what?" He suddenly jerked upright in his chair, and a look of shock crossed his face before he schooled his features once more. Another sigh, though this one held an ounce of affection and more exasperation than exhaustion, Peter noticed. Neal closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers against them, as if fighting off a headache.

"Yes, I'm fine. No, nothing happened. … yeah."

He went silent for a moment.

"Can we _not_ talk about this now?" Neal shouted, attracting unwanted attention once more. Slouching once more and holding the phone with his shoulder, he put his hands under his desk, fiddling with something underneath.

Peter was sure he was trying to keep his hands from shaking.

"As much as I hate to admit it … Ha! Yeah, right. Okay. See you later." Neal cut the line, relaxing back into his chair and breathing deeply, closing his eyes as soon as his back hit the chair.

"Family troubles?" Peter asked, sidling up to him in the nearest rolling chair he could find. Neal cracked one eye open to look at Peter.

"Yeah. How'd you know?" He didn't even look surprised, Peter reflected. Resigned, maybe, but not surprised. He responded, "Well, the 'looking for Dad' part was fairly obvious."

Neal sighed, shaking his head. "It's complicated. Shouldn't you be talking to Hughes?"

Peter raised an eyebrow and said, "He's not in yet."

Neal's eyebrows raised this time, and a smirk found its way onto his face again as he looked at a point just above his keeper's shoulder. Peter just sighed, turning in his chair and standing, saying, "Captain. Do you mind having a conference?"

Hughes raised an eyebrow and Peter wondered how often everyone here did that. Did it just run in the Fed genes, or was it some kind of quirk in the White Collar Unit? He was jerked back to reality when Hughes responded.

"I suppose. Conference room?"

Peter nodded, and followed Hughes up the stairs after giving Neal a concerned glance. He got an eye roll in response, so he figured Neal was okay.

For the moment.

* * *

Bryce Larkin was frustrated. The CIA keeps bugging him about bailing on his last mission, the Wendigo he had just salted and burned left behind a nasty scar and some head trauma, he almost caught a lead on his father and ended up losing it because he couldn't keep his aliases straight in his head after the possible concussion, and his brother wasn't returning his 50-some phone calls.

You'd at least expect your brother to pick up the phone when you're being ambushed by Fulcrum agents in your office building. But whatever.

Kicking an agent in the face, he cursed and hung up again, dialing and forcibly pushing the call button and the phone backwards into someone's face.

Hearing a satisfying crack as he probably shattered the man's nose, Bryce smirked before growling in frustration as the call went straight to voicemail, again.

Deciding that pent up anger was best put to use – especially in a situation that he was in – he smiled in a feral fashion, not planning for anything as he simply let go. Things flashed through his mind, and soon nothing was real anymore; there was only him, his enemy, and his wrath. A scream tore from his throat as he launched into battle, every stomach-twisting thing that came to mind fueling his fire and building it as he ducked, blocked, swung, swiped, hit, punched, kicked, scratched, cracked, broke, and killed. Mercy was nothing but a word in his dazed state, something only a weakling would use as a feeble attempt to avoid due punishment.

He didn't stop until every agent in the room, in the hall, on the floor, in the building was dead or paralyzed in some way.

Cracking his neck to relieve tension, he kicked a man's foot off of his shoe and stepped around the corpses and mutilated bodies.

He was just grateful the demons had already killed the men quickly before possessing them.

* * *

It wasn't until later, when Bryce was finished cleaning out the crime scene, did he call his brother again.

_Ring…_

_ Ring…_

_ Ring…_

_ We're sorry, the call you made could not go through – _

He closed the phone, shoving it heatedly in the seat next to him before taking out another cell from his glove box, and dialing the same number.

_Ring…_

_ Ring…_

_ Ring…_

A pause – then a hesitant, "_Hello?_"

"Oh, thank God. I thought no one was going to pick up. Who is this?"

_"…uh, Agent Kyle Desson. Who is _this_?_" a hesitant voice responded.

"No one of importance to you. Where's Neal? He's not in trouble again, is he?"

"_No, he's just out with another agent. What is it you need so urgently?_"

"'Another agent?' Great. Now he's _really_ in trouble. Well, give the phone to him the next time you see him, will you?"

"_Hold on, who are you?"_

"His brother. His _douche_ brother in his eyes, but I prefer the term _wicked_," Bryce replied, the smart-ass part of him dousing his heated anger with practiced ease.

"_Wait. Caffrey's got a brother?_" Bryce stumbled for a second, slightly put off by the mention of his mother's maiden name.

"I'm talking right now, aren't I? Besides, it's not like he got where he was by himself. Someone had to teach him _something._"

"_You taught him everything? Y'know that's technically aiding and abetting?"_

"Seeing as you're with the FBI, I can neither confirm nor deny that statement." A beat of silence. "But yes, I did. I also taught him how to fight."

There was laughter from the other end, and Bryce frowned, wondering if too much pride had shown in his tone. _"Well, you didn't seem to have done a good job. Dude can barely handle a slap."_

Bryce actually chuckled at that, replying with a light, "He always was kind of weak in the face. First time we learned that an agent had punched him 'cross the jaw."

"_An agent punched him?"_

"Hard. After finding out the reason, even threw in a sucker of my own. Bruised pretty bad."

_ "You actually punched him? You're kidding me._"

"Hell yeah, I punched him. Right across the face. _That_ bruise wouldn't go away for a week."

There was laughter on the other line, and Bryce put in a few chuckles himself. He remembered that day. Neal had actually just met Sarah, and did his attempt at 'smooth flirting'. Bryce didn't actually hit him, but instead offered the ice pack when Sarah landed quite a few on him.

"_Hey!_" A shout flew from the other line, and Bryce flinched, pulling the phone away from his ear for a second. He put it back and smiled at the familiar voice.

"Hey! Neal! Been a while! Listen, I need a favor – " he started, fully intending to rant on all of their issues outside of Neal's work, but he cut him off.

"_No, you stop right there, and tell me what the hell you're doing in New York. And don't you _dare_ give me that 'I'm looking for Dad' BS._" He could almost hear his brother's glare over the phone. He paused to wait until the shuffling he knew as the phone being picked up privately ended. He took a deep breath and started again.

"Alright, alright, chill. I'm on a hunt. Well, was on a hunt. Demons took over entire building, had to wipe it. And … I was wondering, since you're in New York, and I'm in New York, you might want to – " He was cut off once again by a drawn out sigh and a few beats of silence following it. His face falling despite knowing Neal couldn't see it, Bryce almost heaved a sigh of his own.

"_Look, I would love to, but I'm in the middle of a case, and –_" Bryce cut in this time, his anger twitching as he was reminded of a similar argument a few months back.

"Dude. You owe me. You left me, remember? Not the other way around," Bryce said, getting slightly irritated at his brother. C'mon, it's not every day you hear your brother when you travel all across the country. It had absolutely nothing to do with the stinging scar from that particular past event. The argument had been exactly that – an argument. Then, they just separated. No hard feelings, except for, well, all of them.

"_Yes, I remember. I know. I'm sorry. But I can't just – what?_"

Bryce sighed, repeating what he had been saying as he had talked over his younger brother. "I said, you can _just do_ anything. It's all a matter of what you _want_ to do." There was a moment of silence, which Bryce immediately filled with, "Something's wrong, isn't it. You're okay, right?" He suddenly berated himself for not asking that first, wondering where the caring older brother had gone from his persona. His spine turned ram-rod straight, and he tensed up, ready to hurry back to wherever the _fuck_ his brother was, because if he was trouble it was all his fault, because he didn't look over his little brother, he broke his promise to his now estranged father –

"_Yes, I'm fine. No, nothing happened,_" Neal replied, though the unusual hitch in his voice and the shuffle as the phone moved suggested otherwise. His heart wrenched as he imagined his little brother resisting the urge to hang up if not to avoid a stressed situation then to annoy his brother out of his plan anyway.

"Nah, nothing. You're right. I should just 'mind my own business', because you were 'never of my concern', right?" There was a moment of silence, and Bryce cringed, wondering if he had gone too far by quoting his brother's own words of that night. He didn't regret it, though. "Look, Neal. I know, you probably don't want to talk about it, but still. I'm your brother. I'm here for you. Right?"

"_… yeah_." Neal replied sullenly, and Bryce could hear the exhaustion in his voice. A wave of guilt threatened to crash into him, but Bryce pushed it down expertly.

He sighed. "Alright. Thank you. So, do you want to talk about it?" There was another of those beats of silence, and Bryce was itching to say something to cover it, now. "Neal, I swear, you don't have to keep anything from me. I'm here for you. Please." Still only hearing silence, Bryce took to desperately grasping at straws to try and find it so Neal didn't have to say it out loud.

"Okay. It wasn't Moz, right?" Finding no answer once more, he continued his blind guessing. "Peter's okay … Jones is good, and Diana's fine. Which only leaves … Neal?" Feeling the dread creep up and settle in his stomach like a lead ball, Bryce choked out, "Kate … Kate's okay, right?"

He heard a sharp inhale, and the dread that was slowly crawling up threatened to swallow him, consume him until there was just a black hole of grief. He couldn't imagine how Neal was feeling, as he was the one who was in love with her.

Bryce had had Chuck as a friend at Stanford, and Sarah at his time in the CIA. He was never really alone, unless you included missions, but Sarah was alone on her own missions, too. Bryce and Neal had separated when Bryce had retreated to Stanford, and Neal pursued his excellent skills in the scams their father had taught them before they had been whisked into WitSec. It had eventually built until he was a full con man, breaking out hundreds and sometimes thousands in cash doing scams and missions unlike Bryce's in the CIA. All Bryce knew was that he was flying completely solo for a few years before finally meeting Moz, and, eventually, Kate.

Kate had been the one connection between the brothers through the CIA and her own cons with Neal. She was assigned by the CIA to keep an eye on him, but eventually she fell in love, just as he had, and she had refused to leave her post next to him. He was pretty angry when he found that she had been lying about the CIA, but warmed up to the idea after hearing an apology of Bryce's through Kate.

And now, something was wrong with Kate. And anything that went wrong with Kate, Bryce knew Neal would be breaking apart at the seams – Kate had been the one to pull all of his pieces back together and hold them there before he could do it himself. And he had done the same for her spy life. Whatever had happened to her, it was bad. Neal wouldn't be shutting down like this if it wasn't disastrous.

Feeling his heart rate and his breathing accelerate, Bryce calmed himself down before a sharp, "_Can we not talk about this now!"_ was heard over the phone.

Refusing to go anywhere near the stages of grieving, he heard the phone shuffle, and knew automatically that Neal was finding something to do with his hands so they wouldn't shake. His heart twisted at the implications – his hands had only vibrated when a dire situation was resolved, someone he knew was in danger, or something bad had happened. It was an action that put Bryce off his game and worried him more than he would like to admit. He quickly changed the subject.

"Okay, look. I'm in New York, you're in New York. How about this. Instead of you and me hunting together, we switch places? Huh? I've got a demon ring to keep an eye on, but I've also got a ghost hunt not too far from here. I'm assuming you've got something demonic over there, seeing as it _is _New York. So … we just switch places for a while. I could use the break, and you could use the hunt as … stress relief. It can work. It _will_ work." He pushed a note of assurance into his tone, and he knew before he even heard the laugh from the other side, that he had convinced his brother.

"_As much as I hate to admit it …_"

"Aw, you know my plans are the best. They always work out great," Bryce said with a knowing smile he knew Neal would sense over the phone.

"_Ha! You wish._"

"Alright. Meet me tomorrow at 0400 by the old motel that Peter showed you at first." He could hear Neal's restrained sigh as he replied, "_Okay. Sure. See you later._" Honestly, did Neal think Bryce wouldn't have checked up on his brother the moment he came back onto the radar? And, when he was off of the radar, for that matter?

Feeling a small smile creep up on his face, Bryce Larkin set out for the familiar motel he found Neal living in before he had lead him over to June.

This was going to be an interesting week.

**Kinda long-ish, but still hope you enjoyed! Tell me what you think in the shining, attention-seeking box below! Seriously. I just re-did this chapter 'cause I didn't like it that much. Please don't make that mean nothing.**

**R&R!**

**~IsomorphicTARDIS**


	2. Chapter 2

**New Chapter! Hope you like - reviews are always appreciated! R&R!**

**Update: Ah, finally, back in black! Well, I'm actually in neon orange fuzzy pajama pants, but whatever. Ugh, these past few weeks have been terrible. Mostly because of the gigantic writer's block hanging over me. *Proceeds to be squished by metaphorical block of writing***

**Anyway, I'd really appreciate it if you R&R!**

"Bryce!" Neal called into the darkness, despite the New York lights shining as bright as ever. The ex-conman figured it was the sheer tense feeling in the air that darkened the surrounding areas.

"Neal!" Bryce shouted back, running up to a figure in the night, standing below a single lamppost with a flickering light. An identical smile creased identical faces, and both squeezed a little too hard in their sentimental embrace.

"For a moment there, I thought you were going to bail on me," Neal said, and Bryce huffed a laugh. "I was thinking the same about you! Hoping I wasn't right just as much."

The sides of Neal's eyes crinkled, and Bryce finally saw the genuine happiness in his smile and the light dancing in his brother's eyes. He remembered back when he had seen the same look on his face – the day he met Kate. He smiled bitterly as he reminisced of a better time and place, now in the past.

"So? You bring it?" Neal said, breaking Bryce out of his stupor. He smiled, holding up a suitcase that currently held various weapons, differing in size, shape, and target. A slip of a paper stuck out of the top, and Neal took it out, crumpling it in his hand as he lifted the suitcase from his brother's hands. Holding up his own, much lighter, suitcase, Neal passed it over, and scanned the piece of paper.

"A ghost hunt … corpse buried somewhere in North City Cemetery … A _hunter?_" He exclaimed, looking up to his somewhat impressed face, as the other was scanning Neal's paper as well. Their eyes locked, and Neal suddenly felt very small, disbelief covering his emotions and creasing his face. "… Wes?" was all he said, his shoulders hunching as he saw his brother's downcast expression.

It's not like a good hunter friend's death was uncommon – in fact, it happened every other month. They had stopped wondering if they were going to have any long term friends after almost everyone they had come in contact with suddenly dropped dead. Deaths just weren't that rare. However, a hunter dying and then coming back as a spirit? Kind of makes hunting all of your life redundant if you become a supernatural creature when you die.

Before, Neal had wondered why Bryce wouldn't have already salted, oiled, and burned the ghost's corpse, but now he understood. He hadn't really known Wesley that well – just a man who managed to help out on a hunt. To be honest, Neal didn't like him one bit. And now he was dead. He knew Bryce wouldn't be able to do it. He'd probably try to delay getting rid of him – could probably state the case that he hadn't gone vengeful. Then Neal would add "Yet," to that argument, and it would get way too heated, leaving another broken bridge between the siblings, eventually tearing both apart until they made it up months later. Mentally giving his brother a pat on the back, he settled for a soft hand on his shoulder. It might not be the best idea, but it had to be done, and Neal would always take a chance to take some weight off of his brother's shoulders.

Bryce thought it was a good idea to give his brother this case – he was too emotionally involved, and his brother needed to de-stress. It was bad enough that his love was dead – but up in flames, leaving no body to even burn? That was cruel. Therefore, Bryce hoped it would be quite liberating for Neal to burn _something_ in place of Kate, because, if anything, he needed closure.

Switching topics to follow up to safer waters, Bryce looked down at Neal's case sheet and remarked, "Dude, stolen engagement ring? That's gotta _suck _for the engagement."

Neal actually snickered, settling into his trademark smirk and replying, "That's what I said. You're a little late there, brother."

"Oh, shut up," Bryce quipped, pretending to look back down at the sheet as he glanced up at Neal's face, which looked a considerable amount of shades lighter at the normal banter.

"So, are you ready? We've gotta do this right the first time, or they'll be onto us. Got it?" Neal said, suddenly serious. Bryce replied with a serious nod, and a rough imitation of Neal's previous smirk.

"Clear as mud. Now let's get this sinking weight off your ankle."

* * *

The FBI was odd.

That was Bryce's first thought as he stepped through the elevator the next morning, walking through the glass doors and sitting down at his desk. God, his brother was a neat freak.

Files and folders were spread all over the desk, stacked on top of each other or laying side-by-side, while various writing utensils were scattered all around, inside cups and drawers that held more random knick-knacks, presumably things valuable only to Neal.

Scratch that, valuable to _anybody_, Bryce corrected himself, quickly pushing closed the drawer containing an antique English millefiori inkwell and stopper. _Once you're in, there's no going back. Kind of like hunting, then._

Cutting that thought off, Bryce glanced up and saw Burke looking down at him. He had never really liked Peter; he was FBI, and Bryce was CIA. There was bound to be some kind of resentment between the two. A little of that healed as he saw how much Peter and Neal took care of each other, but the residual bitterness stuck. He broke eye contact.

_ Neal's having trouble, right?_ Bryce thought. _We'll give him trouble, then._ With an internal smirk, Bryce shoved his hands under the desk and did his best impression of his brother under stress. Seeing Neal in this position at months at a time when he was going to try to tell the family about going into the crime life when they were younger made it foolishly easy to recreate.

Closing his eyes and concentrating, Bryce turned his mind toward the case they were working on at the time, unable to keep his mind off of the case by his side. He hauled the suitcase up onto the desk, and pulled out a packet from one of the outside pockets.

Instead of skimming the words this time, he read carefully, absorbing each detail and every sentence to figure out what exactly they were dealing with. He was just reading an emphasis of dealing with Peter when something else caught his eye.

Reaching into the suitcase, he brought out a bag labeled '6' and layered with yellow dust. Eyes widening, he quickly skipped to page 6 of the packet and pieced the sentences together. Sulfur at a crime scene?

Definitely not good.

Neal sighed. He walked right into the motel he had only months before, and grimaced as the man at the desk yelled, "Hey, Snake Eyes! You're back!" Giving a strained smile and wave, he continued to the staircase, just managing to hold his breath until the top.

He didn't know what someone had done on those stairs, but whatever it was left a stench that probably wouldn't go away for years. Deciding not to dwell on the possibilities, Neal opened his suitcase and pulled out a pair of keys, smirking to himself as he recognized the keychain on it – a laser pen, that could probably cut through thousands of types of metals.

_ Once a spy, always a spy, I guess. _Neal thought, turning the key in the room's lock. _Some things never change._

Jumping as he heard a clatter in the bathroom, he automatically dived into his fighting stance, feet shoulder width apart and hands spread, ready to grab any sort of item to attack someone with. He relaxed with an exasperated sigh as Jo Harvelle trotted out of the bathroom with something akin to disgust on her face.

"God, do you usually stay in places this _disgusting?_" she remarked, wiping something brown and flaky on her jeans. Neal smirked.

"Not usually. The FBI can be very generous to ex-convicts," he said, finding a great deal of satisfaction when she whipped around and did a double take, inspecting him closely and saying, "Neal! What are you doing here?"

"Thanks, Jo," he replied, and she immediately added, "That's not what I meant. I mean, where's Bryce?"

Neal, with his smirk still intact, said, "He's … occupied. Where's your mother?" He looked around, and his eyes landed on the light under the door in the bathroom, where a voice echoed through the room with a lilt of underlying threats.

"Don't even think about it, son," Ellen Harvelle said with her own smirk as she stepped out of the bathroom, a similar look of disgust on her face as was just on her daughter's a minute ago. It hardened and then softened as she took a look at Neal. He smiled and gave her a tight hug, turning and doing the same for Jo after a moment.

"So, how's this brother of yours 'occupied'? He's not …" she trailed off, the repulsed look overcoming her features once more.

Neal huffed a laugh at that, briefly reflecting that that might've been his first real laugh since Kate … "No, he's not occupied like that, thank God. He's over at the FBI office, working another case."

One of Ellen's eyebrows rose while Jo just looked unimpressed, the tone of her next words betraying her true reaction. "You switched places with him, didn't you?"

Neal gave another smirk, and Ellen cuffed him on the back of the head this time. He whined in protest, rubbing the sore spot but cutting off as she spoke. "You idiot! What happens if you get caught?"

Neal straightened up at the question, and he responded, "It'll be okay. We won't get caught. Bryce is too good for that." He moved over to the fridge, grabbing an ice cold beer and setting the suitcase down on the coffee table. "And, besides, if we do get caught, the CIA will take care of it. They always do when it comes to Bryce."

"Yeah," Jo conceded. "He may be an annoying son of a bitch, but he does the job right." Neal leaned against the couch, pointing an accusing finger at Jo.

"Hey now, watch yourself. That's my mother you're talking about," he said, and the women chuckled, inviting themselves to the open fridge and two already opened beers. Neal laughed. He guessed they had already been inside today if not yesterday sometime.

Neal took a look around the motel room in the few moments of silence that passed. The wallpaper was peeling off of the moldy wall beneath, the bed was messily made, and – was that blood? – there was some odd red substance staining one of the couches.

And then his gaze wandered over to the Harvelle's. The two women in Bryce and Neal's life that had always stayed by their side. They had met back when their father had been taken away, Jo's father apparently having something to do with them being transferred into WitSec. He blinked as he was thrown back into the memory, smiling wistfully as he gazed into space, the bottom of the beer bottle acting as an empty space.

_ "By, I don't wanna go," A young Neal whined, pulling on his older brother's shirt sleeve. The younger Bryce looked down at Neal, his eyes crinkling at the nickname. He hadn't been able to say Bryce, so all he said was a choppy abbreviation. Not that Bryce minded it, however._

_ "I know, , I know," Bryce said, kneeling down to face his brother and meet his eyes. "But look, we've got to go. Do you understand? Ellen and Mom can take care of us, okay?" He paused, biting his lip. "Do you trust me?"_

_ Neal's eyes shined with unshed tears, and a little bit of Bryce broke inside, guilt flooding him as Neal slowly nodded his head. Taking his little brother's hand, Bryce stood, looking up at Ellen and nodding._

_ She nodded back, wiping the tear streaks from her cheeks as she led them to the car's backseat – right into their grieving mother's lap. They were only kids. Only kids._

Snapping back into reality from the old memory, Neal stumbled, mentally backtracking and trying to process what Ellen had just said. He shook his head free of the cobwebs and the unbidden memories, smiling as he said, "Sorry. Just caught up in an old memory. Yeah, I've got a small ghost problem a few towns over. Think you can handle the research without me?"

Ellen chuckled, leading them all over to the old windows laptop sitting on the dining table and whirring irritatingly. Neal missed the laptop he used back at June's apartment.

"I think we'll manage just fine, boy. Now go ahead – get a head start. The sooner you finish that job, the sooner we can get around to solving this demon problem."

Neal smiled, nodding his head. "Got it. See you all later, then."

Jo laughed, calling back to him as he strode toward the door, "You taking the Taurus?"

"What?" Neal replied, giving a sarcastic smile as he added, "I would _never_ take a government supplied car and use it for my own purposes."

They all huffed a laugh as Jo gave her own, "Yeah right," and then, "Be careful."

"Careful? Careful's my middle name!" Neal said, turning back and spreading his arms wide.

"Yeah, and mine's String Cheese," Ellen muttered, eliciting one last bought of laughter before Neal walked out, his laugh becoming more bitter with each step.

He hoped they would survive this.

* * *

"You find something?" Burke asked, coming up to Neal's desk and leaning over the front to peer at the packet Bryce held in his hands. He moved his hands away quickly, stuffing everything back into his suitcase while hastily pasting a frustrated look on his face.

"Other than something suspiciously close to Sulfur, no," Bryce replied, leaning back in his chair, and enjoying it more than he would care to admit when it swiveled smoothly.

"Sulfur?" Burke said, and Bryce resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Did he stutter? "Yes," he said out loud. "Sulfur. Check with Diana, it's definitely Sulfur."

Burke closed his eyes, giving a small smile as he said, "You know what, I _don't_ actually want to know how you know that." He straightened, catching sight of Diana and asking her as she approached, "Sulfur?"

Surprise covered her face for a moment, before she said, "How would _he_ know?" Bryce chuckled, saying, "Peter here said he didn't want to know. But, if you're willing to listen … see, it all started when I was only – "

"Okay, hotshot, I regret asking already. Happy?" Bryce gave his best impression of his brother's trademark smirk.

"Very, thanks for asking. You find out anything else?" Bryce leapt up from where he had been spinning around in his chair, and leaned around Diana's shoulder to see the contents of the folder she was holding open. She shied away from him, closing the folder and saying, "Patience, Neal. You'll get yours soon enough."

Bryce rolled his eyes, gesturing for her to hurry up. She scoffed, obviously taking her time in opening the folder and finding her place to start. Bryce paced, bobbing up and down and tapping his foot impatiently.

Finally, she found her spot. "So, a bunch of Sulfur was found at the crime scene, couple of footprints belonging to a common brand of boot, size 10, so average foot size. It could be anyone." She looked up, blinking in the lingering pause before saying, "But, I did get this." She pulled out a sheet of paper with odd red writing on it, and passed it to Bryce. He took a look at it and internally cursed. A lot.

He resisted the urge to crumple the paper up, and instead narrowed his face into a disgusted sneer. The others looked at him curiously, and he said tightly, "I know who it was."

Burke quickly stole the paper from his hands, and Bryce was glad he could finally clench his fists without destroying evidence. Meanwhile, Burke's brow just lowered in confusion. "I don't understand. Who is it?"

Bryce shook his head, waving his hand and saying nothing. Burke looked down at the note and began to read out loud.

"'If you've gotten this, it means that you know who I am. Congratulations. I'm really glad you were able to figure it out. Though, I guess the Sulfur was a bit of a giveaway. Good thing you fell for it.

"So, judging by what has to be a nasty expression on your face right now, I'll assume you know what has to happen. If it's any consolation, I'm sorry. Yes, we're dragging you back into this, but your expertise is needed. See you soon.

Mr. Larkin.'"

Burke raised his eyebrows, and said, "Mr. Larkin? You know him?" Bryce huffed a dry laugh. "Yeah, we're pretty close. But that's not who wrote this."

Diana heaved an exasperated sigh, saying, "Then who did?"

Bryce's face grew grim, and he sighed as well, though his was lighter and more tired. "This is a letter addressed to a Mr. Larkin, not a letter _from_ Mr. Larkin."

He paused, closing his eyes and applying pressure to his temples to ward off the incoming headache.

"It's from the CIA."

Neal was going to _kill_ Bryce the next time he saw him.

Cursing his bad luck, and then cursing his brother's antics instead, he walked over to the sidewalk and began his long trek to headquarters, seething and boiling.

Bryce had taken the Taurus.

Bryce had better be hiding, right about now.

Bryce was dead – will be beyond that, once Neal gets his hands on him.

He leapt over another metal fence, ignoring the appalled looks passerby shot him. He glared at absolutely nothing, stomping off in the general direction of twelve blocks away, where the Taurus was currently waiting.

He was only about halfway there when he caught sight of a familiar face glancing around warily and hurrying down the sidewalk. Running so that he was only a few paces behind him, Neal yelled, "Agent Crowley! What are you doing out here?" The agent stopped, and Neal caught all the way up to him. They began walking together, but Neal didn't miss the halfway dirty looks he was sent by the agent.

"Shouldn't you be doing paperwork or something, Mr. Caffrey?" Agent Crowley asked after a moment, his tone making Neal wonder if it was possible to sound annoyed and pleased to see someone at the same time. He responded with a polite, "Probably."

Glancing at the agent's unimpressed expression, Neal said, "So where are you headed?" Crowley gave an impatient sigh, but said, "back to headquarters." He looked over at Neal with a fake curious and hopeful expression, continuing in a patronizing way, "You wouldn't happen to know the way, would you?"

Well.

"Why, I think I might in fact know the way, my friend. I'm going in the same direction. I've got to give an idiot a piece of my mind." Crowley looked up at that, and Neal couldn't help but smirk at the twinkle in his eye. Neal leaned in closer. "Know any good ways to get back at a person who made you walk over ten blocks?"

Crowley smiled, shrugged, and said, "Steal their shoes. All of them." Neal looked over, surprised. "Hm. Socks too?" Crowley looked thoughtful for a moment, and then asked, "How much do your brother's feet stink?" Way to be sutble.

Neal choked on the laugh on midway up his throat. He whirled around to completely face Crowley, coming to an abrupt halt, and catching up to him when the agent kept going. "Brother?" he said weakly, and Crowley shot him a look that clearly said, "Do I look like an idiot to you?" Neal swallowed.

"You can't tell _anyone_, got it?" he said shakily, stepping in front of Crowley to halt him in his tracks. The agent just rolled his eyes, saying, "Well of course not. Do you think I want to get fired for a simple swap of staff?" Neal considered this, tilting his head as he saw his point, "But, if you _did_ figure it out … how?"

Crowley sighed again, giving Neal an incredulous expression. "Seriously? In case you haven't noticed, your eye color is strikingly different to your brother's." Oh.

Neal growled in frustration, looking at Crowley with something akin to suspicion. "Christo," he muttered under his breath, a gradual intake of breath the only consolation that he hadn't seen anything. Neal wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

If Crowley could figure it out that soon, who knows how long it will take Peter? Unless … yes, that might work. He walked forward with a purpose, turning the couple of more blocks until they reached the building, and nodding to Crowley as they parted ways, the agent heading into the building while Neal stayed behind to put a note by the sign where the Taurus was parked.

He opened the car door with nothing more than a flick of his wrist and two sticks of metal, and sat comfortably in the front seat, embracing the purr of the engine as he turned it on and pulled down the window. He laughed at the wind in his face as he drove off, imagining the scandalized expression on his brother's face.

**Oh my God. I just spent like 30 minutes trying to get this in the right format. I guess that's my fault, for not writing it in the correct format in the first place ... whatever.**

**Hey! It's review response time!**

**Quinis - A simple thanks. **

**Fiona12690 - Aww, I'm trying by best!**

**Inkling No. 3 - Oh no. I looked at yours and my stomach just plummeted. And then I actually read it. THANK YOU SO MUCH. I'm not sure if you're actually someone I know, but either way, you made my day literally 1000% better. And, to your concerns, yes, I can tick off some things from your list. Cas, Crowley, Chuck, Sarah, Shaw, Casey, Morgan, Mozzie, Elizabeth, Lillith, (maybe) Keller, and (definitely) Lucifer. Oh, and Azazel will have a major role, too. So, I'm glad you enjoyed it so far, and thanks!**

**R&R, please! It is one more hit against the impending writer's block.**

**~IsomorphicTARDIS**


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